Cocoon

Even nights when the cord
Of this old electric blanket
Gets caught under the closet door
As she tries to keep warm in her tiny space
Are better
With acoustic guitar hummings
Knitting projects
And phones running low on battery
You are the one she allows
(By proxy)
In this space
Where women revert
To the beaten-girl seeds
Their fathers planted
In those pink-ribboned nurseries
Now you are here
Little descriptions escaping her fingers
And whispers
To your own
Hold them in tender hands
For she isn’t accustomed
To those kind of fingers
And if she doesn’t hear the sounds of breaking
She might
From the safety of her closet cocoon
Emerge

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